Gallien’s bloodshot eyes locked onto the towering magma salamander. His earlier strike, one strong enough to cleave boulders, had barely left a scorch on its obsidian hide. Ten lesser Demonkins had died under that attack, but their commander had shrugged it off like a warm breeze.

  How is its skin this damn thick? I can’t go all out… not until the others reach the exit.

  He stood still, chest heaving, sweat sizzling off his skin. Then the salamander’s body flushed a violent red. Flame patterns crawled across its molten skin like living tattoos as a wave of blistering heat punched through the swamp.

  Damn it. This isn’t good.

  Gallien’s grip tightened. His sword flared to life, blazing with a blinding radiance and the Demonkin spewed a torrent of lava straight at him.

  Gallien answered with his own slash. Steel and magma collided in midair with a thunderous detonation. A chunk of the molten stream crystallized into black stone before crashing into the swamp. Water hissed and exploded into clouds of steam so thick it swallowed the world.

  Through the boiling haze, the Salamander King charged.

  The ground quaked under its weight. Having a mere human block its earlier strike had driven it into a frenzy. Only Gallien’s death could wash away the insult.

  Gallien staggered back from the molten rain, scorch marks already branding his skin. The very air was poison, the laze clouds eating away at his lungs and eyes.

  If I don’t go all out, this swamp will be my tomb.

  He ripped the straps of his armor loose. Metal clattered at his feet. The heat was too much; he would roast inside the plate before the salamander even touched him.

  The swamp splashed violently as the creature surged closer. Scalding droplets hit him, burning holes through skin and cloth. Yet he stood unmoving; eyes closed, blade lowered, breath steadying.

  The sword no longer shone. It looked utterly mundane, as if all its power had been snuffed out.

  Only a few meters separated predator from prey. The salamander reared back, throat swelling with another molten blast. A handful of surviving lesser salamanders slithered behind their leader, ready to reduce Gallien to ash before hunting down his companions.

  Then, Gallien’s eyes snapped open.

  They glowed silver.

  Five illusionary swords shimmered into existence above his head, humming with restrained fury.

  He raised his sword.

  Reality split.

  The five spectral blades streaked upward in a blinding arc, carving the steam apart. A corridor of visibility opened, and Gallien lunged through it.

  The salamanders recoiled, instincts screaming. Even the massive leader felt something primal twist in its gut.

  This human was no longer prey.

  “Die, you abominations!”

  His two-handed swing detonated like thunder. The swamp convulsed. Water erupted into rippling shockwaves.

  The sword light ripped forward in a crescent of blinding silver, an executioner’s arc.

  The smaller Demonkins never stood a chance. Their heads flew skyward in a gory fountain, blood raining down like crimson mist. The leader shrieked, its forelimbs shredded to bone and molten flesh.

  Gallien didn’t hesitate. He charged forward.

  It was now or never.

  The salamander writhed, survival instincts roaring to life. Lava surged through its veins. Its half-severed limbs regenerated rapidly but the regeneration thinned its armored hide. Superheated steam burst from its body in thick sheets, concealing it behind a lethal fog.

  Damn it. Clever beast. It knows I can’t reach it through the steam… and the Five Cleavers won’t recharge for a while.

  He backed away, teeth gritted against the heat. The steam cut off his retreat. Worse, he saw several lesser Demonkins slithering around the flanks, heading straight for Aaron’s group.

  A growl escaped him.

  I have to kill it here. If not, it’ll keep coming, and we won’t—

  He froze.

  Six corpses rose from the swamp’s depths, drifting to the surface like offerings to some unseen god. Their bodies were mummified, drained, and mauled.

  Gallien’s eyes narrowed. Bite marks?

  Deep punctures ringed their necks. Something had fed on them.

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  His pulse quickened. Damn it! I shouldn’t have ignored Aaron’s warnings.

  No more hesitation.

  Gallien raised his blade. Sword light rained down in furious succession, each slash tearing into the obscuring steam. Sparks and embers flashed as his attacks hammered the salamander hidden inside.

  He had to keep it pinned. Keep it wounded. Keep it from regenerating.

  Just long enough to summon the five swords again.

  Just long enough to end it.

  For Gallien and the Demonkin, this was no longer a battle. It was a race against time, and only one of them would survive the next breath.

  In another section of the swamp, charred salamander and viper corpses bobbed on the bubbling water. Blood, flesh, and ash mixed into a thick, steaming broth, warping the very nature of the swamp around it.

  Aaron burst up from the depths, gasping lungful of hot, humid air.

  That beast must be stronger than expected if Sir Gallien is already going all out…

  His gaze dropped to the diced corpses floating nearby.

  That would’ve been us if we were even a fraction slower.

  He snapped his head around, searching.

  Where’s Vacatus? Where’s Boko?

  As if answering his thoughts, a figure shot up from the water—panting, retching, vomiting murky swamp water.

  Great. Boko made it. But where’s Vacatus?

  Aaron narrowed his eyes and approached him cautiously.

  “You okay?” he whispered.

  “I swallowed that shit water, how can I be okay?” Boko coughed, still spitting sludge. “Where’s Vacatus?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  The misty fog thickening around them made searching difficult. Distant echoes of Gallien’s clash with the Salamander King rolled across the swamp, but Aaron kept scanning for the missing man.

  “Vacatus!” he called. “Vacatus, where the hell are you?!”

  Nothing answered.

  Fuck.

  He clicked his tongue, unease souring his mouth.

  I don’t like this.

  “That fat bastard has the best water affinity among us,” Boko muttered. “He should’ve surfaced already. Unless…”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

  Aaron’s jaw tightened. I don’t see a corpse. So what happened to him?

  He knew Boko was the highest priority among them, but abandoning Vacatus without trying didn’t sit right with him.

  “Should we look for him?” Boko asked, finally done coughing. “Maybe he got stuck under a corpse or something.”

  Aaron frowned. “That might not be a good—”

  Boko dove before he could finish.

  Aaron froze.

  “…Boko?”

  It had happened too fast.

  He regained himself and prepared to dive in after him, when bubbles erupted where Boko had vanished.

  He’s alive…

  Aaron trudged closer. “I’m coming. I’ll—save you?”

  His breath hitched.

  Two corpses floated up from the depths. They were Magma Salamanders, those massive, vicious beasts, and yet bite marks ran the full length of their bodies, gnawed clean as though by hidden predators. Worse still, their bodies were withered, shrunken, and drained.

  Aaron stopped dead, then slowly backed away, eyes never leaving the corpses.

  Whatever had killed those monsters… had to have taken Vacatus and Boko.

  I don’t want to die. Not here. Not like this.

  All around him, the swamp began to bubble. Something was coming.

  Aaron didn’t wait.

  He ran, every muscle screaming, Blessing enhancing every frantic step.

  I can’t die here. I have to survive. I have to get home.

  He risked a glance back.

  A reddish blur streaked through the mist.

  What in the—what IS that?!

  Panic erupted in him. He pushed harder, sprinting at full speed. Few could match his agility. But the blur closed the gap effortlessly.

  It’s catching up. No!

  He ran blindly, desperately. The mist thinned. Hope flared, but briefly.

  Then something tapped his ankle.

  Barely a nudge.

  But his left leg ballooned grotesquely and exploded with a sticky thwack.

  Aaron shrieked, crashing into the muddy water. He clutched the bloody stump, eyes wide, breath ragged. Blood poured into the swamp in thick streams.

  The blur was gone. Only fog surrounded him.

  Then he heard it. Bubbling. Something was rising.

  Six figures launched from the water.

  There were more?

  All six resembled the monstrosity that had accompanied the Varidan student. Then the air in front of one of them twisted, folding inward like collapsing space.

  And for a heartbeat, Aaron forgot his pain.

  The Varidan student, who had been annihilated by Gallien, stood before him.

  But something was wrong. His eyes were pits of pitch-black, swallowing all light. Darkness clung to him like a living thing; thick, suffocating, and promising nothing but a violent, merciless end.

  The student pointed at him.

  Aaron heard a splash behind him. Before he could turn, something punched through the left side of his chest. Warmth left his body immediately. His vision dimmed.

  In his final moment, he saw it; his own heart, still beating, held casually in the hand of the thing that had killed him.

  We shouldn’t have come here today…

  Then everything went dark.

  [Congratulations! You have devoured 2 Blessed and 8 Omen beings!]

  [You have gained a new passive skill!]

  [Skill: Regeneration (Passive) – restricted by current rank!]

  [Congratulations! Your race has been updated!]

  [Race: Human & Demonkin (Plague)]

  [Congratulations! You have attained a new rank!]

  [Rank: C & ???]

  [The maximum Omen Points for current rank has increased!]

  [Skills: Summoning, Illusion Inducement, Devourer, and Dominator have leveled up!]

  [Current Skill Level: Lv. 1]

  [You have gained extra unassigned stat points!]

  [Unassigned Stat Points: 5]

  “Didn’t it feel good devouring those salamanders?” the demonic voice cooed behind Adam’s ear. “If you had eaten the Blessed too, your results would have been so much better. But I’m not complaining.” It released a delighted cackle. “I know what you’re capable of, Adam. I can’t wait.”

  Adam ignored the voice entirely. He examined his body, scrolling through the notifications as he flexed his fingers. His gaze lingered on his arms.

  They actually grew back…

  A grin stretched across his face. The memory of Gallien’s attack jolted through him, a flash of overwhelming force. If the Familiar hadn’t intercepted most of it, he would be dead. Devour had activated on its own, dragging him into a frenzy he barely remembered.

  His attention shifted to his rank.

  C, huh.

  The smile returned, sharper this time. He could feel the difference in his muscles; his intangible connection to Omen threads strengthening.

  Gallien suddenly didn’t seem quite as terrifying.

  One of the Familiars padded toward him and knelt, raising an ordinary-looking bag in its hand.

  System, send it to inventory.

  [Inventory]

  – Blessed Bag

  The Familiar rose and silently retreated to stand with the others.

  Adam studied the six of them. He couldn’t recall their births clearly, but judging by their distorted forms, he was certain they had come from the corpses of Raventhorn’s Awakened.

  System, assign all unassigned stat points to Strength.

  [Strength: 25 (+5)]

  The notification faded. Adam turned his head toward the distant clash of steel, the ongoing battle.

  “There’s no need for me to get involved,” he murmured, lips curling into a wicked grin. “But the winner… the winner won’t be so lucky.”

  His body blurred, dissolving like mist, and the Familiars slipped back beneath the swamp’s surface.